Sergeant Garcia: The Dumbest Man In Los Angeles?
by icyfire
Summary: DIS FIC: A little vignette about Garcia's apparent lack of cognition


TITLE: Sergeant Garcia: The Dumbest Man In Los Angeles?  
AUTHOR: icyfire  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. I don't make money off them. I   
simply earn pleasure writing about them.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: One of only two Disney fics that I have written.   
FAM is my favorite, but I admit to loving Guy Williams' grin.  
  
Thanks to the GWFriendsList for the conversation that sparked this   
idea.  
  
***  
  
  
It was another night of patrol for him. The young ones were off   
celebrating the fact it was not their assignment, but he was   
content. He enjoyed it, and often volunteered for night patrol.   
However, he understood the others' feelings, although he suspected   
they would not understand his. When he had been their age, he had   
hated night-sentry duty. For most people, including soldiers, the   
falling of the sun signaled a time for gambling, talking,   
drinking--usually at the tavern--and flirting. He remembered well   
the many ladies he had flirted with as a young man. Works of   
beauty they had been.  
  
Now, he was an old man. Night meant something different to him.   
Oh, he would still gamble, talk, drink, and flirt, but he often   
enjoyed the silence of the day's end more than anything. While   
guarding the walls of Los Angeles, with only himself as company,   
he could reflect upon recent events and dream of days when life in   
this wonderful, hard territory would be different.  
  
His late night thoughts had helped him piece together many half-  
formed ideas into whole plans that he could follow. His last   
night of sentry duty had brought to his mind a desire that had   
startled him; he wanted to retire. As a child, he had yearned to   
be a soldier, fantasized about helping people and being the hero.   
Shaking his head, he thought of the reality that had turned out to   
be so different from those boyhood flights of fancy. Instead of   
being a hero, he was often seen as a villain. The sight of his   
uniform inspired fear, not confidence, in the people.  
  
Reaching the end of the plaza, he turned. He caught a brief   
glimpse of Miguel and Bebe heading towards the cemetery. Shaking   
his head, he rubbed his belly, and thought of the stupidity of   
some men. Miguel had a wonderful woman waiting for him at home,   
and his little ones could use that money far better than Bebe. He   
briefly thought of *accidentally* interrupting them, but he knew   
it would do little good. Bebe was not the type of woman to   
embarrass easy, and it was obvious Miguel was thinking with   
something other than his brain.  
  
The muted sounds of people laughing in the tavern, along with the   
sound of his own footsteps, were easy to ignore. He continued his   
lonely walk, thinking of a man who had been the smartest person he   
had ever known. The hardest working man in the entire *pueblo*,   
people said at his funeral. He knew his father would have been   
shocked at how many people came to cry over his coffin. He was   
loved by everyone, including his youngest son. Even after all   
these years, that son still missed his father's wise words and   
warm hugs.  
  
Making another turn, his mind returned to thinking about   
retirement. Life had provided little time to consider the idea   
since his startling realization a few nights ago. Sighing sadly,   
he remembered what had ignited his desire to be a soldier. In his   
mind, he could hear his father's soft, melodic voice, gone from   
this earth for far too long. Every night, his father crawled into   
his sons' bed and read to them from one of the mission's borrowed   
books.   
  
He had loved hearing his father read about the great Roman   
general, Julius Caesar. As a young boy, he had cried when he   
heard the words of the Englishman's play describing the death of   
his hero. Sometimes, even now, his father's voice seemed to echo   
in his mind, repeating the immortal words of the play--"Et tu,   
Brute?" Laughing softly, he remembered *Don* Diego's friend and   
the prank he had pulled. Looking over the complaint signed by   
"Julius Caesar", it had been all he could do not to burst out   
laughing. Fortunately, he had been more in control when he met   
with Diego and his mischief friend later. Diego himself had not   
been amused to learn he had been arrested because Julius Caesar   
was claiming that Diego had stolen his horse.  
  
Turning the final corner of the *cuartel*, he shivered. He   
wondered if his father looked down upon him and was disappointed   
by what he saw. His papa had been a wonderful man, a peasant   
farmer, but he had been unique. Poor by monetary standards, he   
was rich in education. Having been raised by the monks, he had   
almost taken a vow before realizing that their life was not meant   
for him. He knew how to read, do math, and some basic science.   
The science and math helped him sometimes in the fields. It was   
in those same fields that he instructed his sons. He taught them   
Latin, addition, and subtraction. They would spend an hour every   
night, after returning from the fields, lying on the floor in   
front of the fire learning to write. His father had shared with   
them an education that had surpassed many *caballeros'*.  
  
Stopping to take a drink from the plaza's well, he looked around   
the *pueblo* of Los Angeles, his home for many years. It was so   
much like the home of his youth, and yet so different. He could   
not help grinning as he thought of his friends from childhood.   
They would not recognize the big, fat dumb sergeant of today as   
the too intelligent boy they had known.  
  
They would not understand the necessity of playing so dumb, but   
then they had not understood a lot of things. Before learning of   
the power he could have by hiding his intelligence, he had been   
blind, too. He could still remember laughing at his first   
Sergeant, a man so dumb that a stick could outsmart him. He had   
snickered behind the man's back until he had been forced to   
realize the truth. The man was as smart as he was, but he acted   
stupid.  
  
He had dared to ask why, and the sergeant had, for some strange   
reason, decided to share. "Look around you. Where are we? Who   
are we?" the man asked in his big booming voice. "We are in the   
territories of Spain. The outskirts--so far away that little   
Spain says or does can affect us. We are peasants, and no matter   
how smart we are, we are not going to rise above that stigma. In   
fact, our intelligence will only make those in power fear us.   
Corporal, look around at the soldiers and the *commandante*. See   
how they treat me, how they *really* treat me."  
  
He had followed his Sergeant's advice. He had watched, at first,   
seeing as he had always seen--both the man's superiors and his   
inferiors laughing at him. No one took him seriously because he   
was so dull-witted. Then, as he continued to watch his Sergeant,   
he began to realize what the man had been trying to teach him.   
The *commandante* did yell at him and call him names, but there   
was no man that he trusted more. Their commander believed that   
any man so dumb would not be able to betray him. The lancers all   
followed his orders without a fight. They liked him, and they   
often felt sorry for him. Playing dumb had brought the sergeant   
what he wanted--trust from his superior and obedience from his   
men.   
  
Sometimes, he had to admit that he hated people believing he could   
be so dumb. Could *any* man be as stupid as he played himself to   
be? And still make it to the rank of sergeant in the King's Army?   
He remembered his recent conversation with *Don* Diego, about his   
apparent lack of desire to capture Zorro. He had warned the young   
*caballero* that he had a suspicion of Zorro's identity. Did his   
friend really believe that he had only narrowed it down to "he's a   
man and lives near by"? Diego's laughter had said he did.  
  
The idea of taking a break and sitting on the stool by the jail   
began to appeal to him just before he noticed the black cape   
floating in the wind. Zorro was leaving, having evidently already   
released the prisoner. Barely hiding his grin, he hollered for   
his lancers to saddle up because the chase was about to begin   
again. *Ah, that Don Diego--he's a man who's almost as clever as   
myself*, he thought as he carefully climbed into his saddle.  
  
It was time for another chase of the fox by a hound that was far   
smarter than the fox believed him to be. A hound with a nose that   
could lead the hunters straight to his door. A hound who loved   
the fox and admired him for daring to be a hero. A hound working   
hard, in his own way, to protect his master's prey.  
  
He loved night sentry duty! It was a great time to think, and   
with Zorro nearby, it was the most exciting time of the day.  



End file.
